


Footsteps

by sunflowerbright



Series: Day by Drabble [43]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Gen, because i always want these two to bond, friendship!, set sometime in season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:43:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerbright/pseuds/sunflowerbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sybil is having a rough time and Matthew is very determined to cheer her up again</p>
            </blockquote>





	Footsteps

**Author's Note:**

> Not-So-Bleak Midwinter prompt #11

[ ](http://s23.photobucket.com/albums/b371/mrstater/Day%20By%20Drabble/?action=view&current=728418_91687331.jpg)

 

He’s alone when he sees the footsteps in the snow, small and clearly from a lady’s shoe with a heel, not fit to trudge through all these layers of the white frost at all. He takes a quick look back at the estate, before turning around, following the path that her feet have so neatly made.

Sybil is sitting on one of the benches, obscured by a large tree, her head hung down. She’s dressed only in a thin coat, and her shoulders are shaking lightly, from the cold, not because she’s crying, and Matthew isn’t sure which he would have found more worrying. Crying females aren’t exactly his forte.

She doesn’t sense him until he sits down beside her, brushing off some of the snow from the wood, before sitting down and she turns around quickly, her eyes large and then relieved when she finds it’s only him. She reaches up to push a strand of hair back under her hat and fights to get out a smile for him.

“Cousin Matthew,” She greets. “What are you doing out here in the cold?”

“One might ask the same of you,” he gently says, trying to convey that he isn’t judging or berating her for anything. As far as he knows, she hasn’t done anything wrong, though one must take into account that this is Sybil and therefore it is very likely that she actually _has_.

Still. Innocent until proven otherwise.

“I was just sitting,” she says, a little curtly, before her eyes flicker back to his and some of the fight goes out of her. “I… I needed to be alone.”

“Downton is very large, surely you could find a place a bit warmer?”

“Yes, but sooner rather than later people always seem to find you in there,” she says, not hiding the bitterness in her tone. “The cold is an easier way to scare them off.”

He lays a hand on her shoulder, a steadying, soft pressure that she can brush off or move away from without any incident. She turns and he smiles lightly.

“It didn’t scare me off,” he says and when he stands up again and offers her his arm, she takes it willingly, not distracting him with words or arguing on it.

“It’s not papa,” she says, explaining without him having to ask. “It’s… it’s this life. It’s these restrictions, these certain rules that we have to follow because it’s always been like that. Why are people having such difficulty accepting change? Why must the people going in another direction be so condemned?”

He’s quiet for a little while as they near the Abbey, his breath painting the air white in front of him. “I’m not sure,” he finally says, looking at her out of the corner of his eyes. She looks much younger than she is (and she is already too young to be so concerned about the burdens of the world), her eyes morose and without that glint that usually lights them up.

“But there is one thing I do know,” he adds, infusing his tone with just the right amount of teasing.

“And what’s that?”

“I can race you back inside and win.”

Her eyes go wide and she stops abruptly. “What?”

“If we go around the back no-one will make a fuss,” he placates, thinking that this is probably not a good idea, but her face is turning alive again instead of that frosty statue, and she looks young and exuberant and full of fire. “And there is no way you can run faster than me.”

She lets go of his arm and stares at him with all the dignity of Queens from old. “Do you know what I have to say to that, good sir?”

“What do you have to say to that, good lady?”

Sybil smiles and her hair whips around behind her as she starts running, laughing as she does. He doesn’t allow her a head start for long, and they pass over the threshold at practically the same time, their breaths shaky and her laughter still hanging in the air.

They quietly discuss, without giving anything away, which _team_ truly won, Matthew informing her in strict tones that he feared her preferred runner had been cheating, and Sybil has to stifle a laugh at the confused looks on everyone else faces.

She says him a quiet thank-you the day after and Matthew feels that, if nothing else, he can still take on the role of friend when necessary.


End file.
